I don't really like ducks. Or geese. Some of my friends and family like them. But not me. They are messy and, like whistling girls and crowing hens, always come to some bad end.
Sam bought 2 baby ducks home in a cardboard box--just for a couple days until they were big enough to go to the farm.
Sam and Vaunda put them in the man cave and I didn't even look at them.
Vaunda hand fed them eggs and oatmeal. And showed them how to drink.
The kids loved them and played with them.
I was not even remotely interested.
But then, everyone left. Except the ducks.
Before I knew it, I was microwaving an egg and mixing in a little oatmeal. They peeped appreciatively and devoured everything in sight. Maybe I was on to something here.
A few days passed and though I was feeding them and cleaning up after them, I maintained a safe emotional distance.
Last Saturday, I watched as Sam unloaded a large covered crate and drug it across the yard. He then went into the garage and gently carried the ducks and placed them in the crate. "They should be eating dandelions," he said.
They were scared. And confused. Tears filled my eyes as I thought about them.
All alone out there, without a mother to show them what to do.
Just like me.
Later in the day, I approached the pen and they peeped excitedly when they saw me. For the first time, I touched them as I put them in the basket to go back into the garage for the night. They were soft and downy and gently nipped my fingers.
I went back outside and picked a few dandelion greens, tore them into small pieces and watched in amazement as they nibbled them directly from my hand.
That was it. I had to get the camera. And take some video. So you could see.
My ducks. My peeps.
I'm doing OK, Mom.